Endless Possibilities
by leader of lights
Summary: Once Antonio became the Edelsteins's gardener, he found himself entranced by the piano music that accompanied his work every morning. He didn't expect the man behind the music to steal his heart.


Winning the heart of that aristocrat hadn't been easy. Finding his way to where he was had been even harder. Not only did social class separate them, but the imposing will of his father had made the rift grow as wide as the ocean, with no bottom in sight. Lying beside him then, fingers intertwined, Antonio knew making the leap to the opposite side had been worth it.

Antonio grew up on a small farm out in the country. The work was hard but rewarding, and his family showed him nothing but love. Lying out in the fields beside the grazing cattle was the easiest way to unwind. Sometimes he'd just gaze at the wide blue sky; sometimes he'd bring along his guitar and strum songs never written down. Always he'd dream of something more than life on a farm.

When he was at last old enough, Antonio packed a lonely bag, grabbed his guitar, and set off for the city. Trips into the maze of grand buildings and cheery citizens were always fascinating to him. The people held a freedom that couldn't be found out in the country, tending to tomato plans. He envied them and sought the same for himself-and, for the first few days, it appeared he would find it. The side of the city he always visited was pristine and bustling. The streets were clean, the market was filled with loud, jovial people and the mansions of the ruling families towered above it all. At first, they only spoke of possibilities.

Soon his pockets ran empty. He wanted a job as far from farm work as he could, but his labor was unwanted wherever he went. Only optimism enabled him to keep looking for an opportunity, even on the gritty backstreets he ended up sleeping on at night. The city had a dark side, as he realized too late. The denizens of this dark side and its shadowy alleyways and businesses threatened to swallow him whole. He had to find something, anything; he knew it likely meant relying on skills obtained through his childhood in the country.

One day, he discovered one of the aristocratic families was in sore need of a gardener. The man that held the position last had passed on weeks before, and their garden was in disarray. As soon as the job offer was extended to him, he accepted it. Even though he was just a servant of the house, at least he'd be near one of the mansions at all. As for the pay, it would treat him far better than 'no income' ever did.

Antonio was given a place to stay in the servants' quarters. It was apart from the main house, and his job didn't require setting foot inside, so he only knew of what he could see through the sparkling-clean windows. On the outside it was intimidating enough. It was tall and wide, a beautiful white that made the thoughtful details of the building glow in the sunlight, dazzlingly during sunrise and sundown. The flowers that surrounded the stone pathways around the house always received their fair share of light. As a result, they were prone to unruliness if not well-kept. He had to deal with weeks of neglect.

The work was extremely tough at first. He trimmed, he watered, he shaped, he weeded (oh, the weeds were endless), all the while being instructed by the master of the house and his twitching brown moustache. Mr. Franz Edelstein was an intimidating man with broad shoulders and a full head of hair, and he didn't take to instructing, really. When he spoke to Antonio about the garden, he demanded and he shouted. Antonio was a mere servant boy that could do nothing right-Franz tried to make that as clear as the windows. His target just refused to believe it, even when covered in sweat and accomplishing nothing. At the end of the day, he knew he was making a difference.

Each day began with a small meal and the prompt gathering of his gardening tools. By the time he was tending the first flowerbed, the soft pinking of piano keys filled the air. The notes formed a song to start his work by. The music itself may have been cheerful or melancholy, but just being surrounded by it made the day that much easier to face. If he could forget the weeding for just one morning, he would grab immediately grab his guitar and play along. If he tried hard enough, his fingers would move to the right places.

The one playing the piano each morning was the heir to the Edelstein name. He was still young and just inches shorter than Franz, but already carried himself with the confidence and severity of his father. His violet eyes looked over his glasses rather than through them. Most of his time was spent indoors, as the rich could do, and his skin was pale from being untouched by the sun. His dark brown hair, the color of chestnuts, fell to a little past the tips of his ears in a messy way that gave him the look of an artist. Refinement presented itself plainly, from the topmost wayward lock of hair, to his long, immaculate royal blue jacket, down to the tips of his shiny black dress shoes.

Compared to him, Antonio was just the average servant boy. His skin had browned from working outside. His messier, lighter hair wasn't nearly as long and curled at the ends. His eyes were the green of the first sprouts of spring, and his wardrobe consisted of steadily dirtier versions of the used and worn items given to him by his employer. The differences only made the young Mr. Edelstein more interesting.

The first time he heard the piano playing, Antonio set out to discover the name of the young man he saw through the window. Right away he asked the servant girl that brought the son tea each day after his music faded. She didn't acknowledge Antonio at first, so he repeated himself and placed a fingertip to the upper left of his chin, where the person in question had a mole. She seemed almost offended by his gesture and glared at him. Then, in a heavily-accented voice, she told him his name: "Roderich Edelstein, the Master's only son."

Roderich Edelstein. It sounded as musical as the songs he created with the piano keys.

Every once in a while Roderich walked along the stone path while Antonio was working. Most of the time he was accompanying his father, but sometimes his footsteps were the only ones. When he glanced over at the garden, Antonio always gave him a friendly smile. Not even Franz's presence kept him from it. The first few smiles made Roderich's eyes go wide. After that, he reacted by swiftly turning away from the gardener and not looking back.

In the afternoons Antonio was given a short break to eat and relax. When Franz had no guests (or even better, was away from the house and unable to complain) he inhaled the food given to him and ran to get his guitar. Playing out in the huge garden he tended to was one of his greatest pleasures. He was surrounded by vivid colors spanning the rainbow and the sweet fragrances of all those flowers. He tried to work their magic into his fingers and his music. Not every song that came from these attempts was beautiful; in fact, they rarely sounded like anything but a cacophony. That didn't keep him from enjoying the rare moments that the notes fit together at last.

A trip outside during those afternoons led Roderich to discover his gardener's hobby. Antonio's smiles continued to make him avert his eyes, but he lingered around the area when he had a guitar in his hands instead of a watering can. The morning after a time the strumming led to a pleasant melody, Antonio overheard Roderich trying to repeat it on his piano. It only lasted a moment, but hung over the garden for the rest of the day.

* * *

Raised voices stole Antonio's attention one evening, when he was about to be working only by the light of the moon. Darkness left little room for accuracy, so he was rushing to finish up. Hearing Roderich's usual calm break was more than enough to make him stop where he was.

"Perhaps I don't want to take your place, father," said Roderich, loud and clear-but with an audible tremble behind his words.

"Oh? And what else could you possibly do?" Franz's voice was deep and powerful. What would be a shout from others was a normal volume from him.

"I don't want… all of this. I just want to play music! That's all."

"You were taught to play the piano to better entertain your guests, not to give up your place as an Edelstein for it!" The violence of his words made the imposing walls of the mansion seem flimsy. "How dare you try to deny the obligation you've had since your noble birth for a worthless thing like _music_?" All the terrible names and insults heard in both the upscale and downtrodden parts of the city were hurled at his son, who said not a word. Then, the house went silent.

The door to the backyard opened. Antonio froze, like an inexperienced burglar caught in the act. It was only Roderich that stepped out, so he relaxed, but kept his eyes glued to him. Something was wrong. Roderich held the right side of his face in his hand gently, and held his gaze meekly on the stones beneath his shoes. His footsteps were uncertain as he crossed the path. Without grace, he sank down on the intricate bench beside the high wall that separated the house from its neighbor. The lights inside the mansion went out-his father's final unspoken words.

Antonio crept closer to the bench, under the guise of watering a bush of striking yellow flowers he tended to earlier in the day. The hand that still cradled Roderich's face glistened in the moonlight, and he was breathing in soft, shuddering gasps. Roderich was doing his best to stifle it, but he was crying.

It didn't take long for Antonio to make up his mind. He put away his tool in the shed and headed straight for his room. Only minutes later, he was back in the garden, guitar in hand. He took a seat on the grass in front of Roderich, cross-legged, and started to strum a song he knew from out in the country. Images of tall grass waving in the wind, the weathered wood of the fences, and the endless blue sky filled his head, guiding his fingers with his memories of home.

Roderich lifted his head just enough for his violet eyes to meet Antonio's. From that point until the end of the song, he didn't move them by even an inch. Of course, Antonio gave him a bright smile in return.

The following morning began as it always did, with a small meal and the prompt gathering of his tools. He had just set to work weeding one of the farther corners of the garden when Roderich walked up behind him. His father had left early that morning, he said. He wanted someone to join him for his piano practice. Antonio didn't need to be asked twice; he dropped everything and fetched his guitar right away.

Entering the Edelstein household for the first time was like entering a new world. He was only able to see the one room he was led into through the door to the garden, but it was enough to make him stare open-mouthed at just about everything he laid eyes on. It was more spacious than the house he had lived in as a child, with brilliantly white walls with tall golden trim, exotic-looking carpets and a way to get to nearly every other room in the mansion, it appeared. Flowers and paintings decorated the room, but the gorgeous grand piano in the center was the focus.

Roderich didn't wait for Antonio to recover from his shock. He took his place on the bench in front of the piano and held his fingers over the keys. The sound of the first note was enough to catch Antonio's attention; the sound of the fifth had him mesmerized. A vision of the river near his family's farm appeared in his mind as Roderich played: he could see it gently rolling by, and he could almost feel it rush against his skin. The memory inspired him to join in with his guitar.

The 'duet' did not go well. Several times Roderich turned to scold him about a note too flat or too sharp, or a chord just absolutely wrong. He refused to give up, and near the end of the practice he could nearly follow along with the song's opening. He told Roderich he'd keep trying and asked if he could join him again, on another day.

A smile turned up the corners of Roderich's lips, an expression Antonio had never seen before. After a nod, he turned to put away his sheet music. He had tried to keep the right side of his face out of view the whole time, but it had clearly swelled since the night before.

Afternoons spent with his guitar became less of a priority after that. With his father away or deeply asleep on some mornings, Roderich was quick to seek out his company. Being surrounded by music and able to watch Roderich's hands dance over the piano keys was well worth working deep into the evening. Once in a while, he was joined in the garden later in the day, and their conversations made him forget how monotonous his job was. He told Roderich about farm life; in return, he discovered more about the life he'd grown to envy.

"All of the stuffy parties and politics are stifling," Roderich admitted softly as he watched Antonio clip a wilted pink blossom from an otherwise healthy plant. "I dream of getting away from here. I want to play music for the rest of my life, so I'll have no regrets."

Antonio turned to face him while brushing dirt from his fingers. He could never remove all of it, it seemed. At least it gave his callused hands a pleasant earthy scent. "Then leave. If you're happy that way, your family should understand."

A bitter laugh was the response to his optimistic words. "You don't know my father."

"Forget your father," Antonio told him. He took a seat beside him on the bench and slammed his hand down on the empty space separating them. "Forget what he says or make him understand. You can do anything you want if you just try." He made sure to catch Roderich's eyes before adding firmly, "I know you can."

Another of those rare smiles appeared. Antonio aimed for just a glimpse of one every time they met-for just that moment, he felt at home. "Thank you," was all Roderich said, but his smile made even that unnecessary.

Force, rather than aim, had guided Antonio's hand when he slammed it on the bench. He hadn't noticed how close Roderich's was. As a result, they lay side-by-side, gently touching. Both were aware, but neither pulled away.

It wasn't long before another argument broke out between father and son. After dinner a few days later, voices were again raised. As Antonio had been able to join the piano practice, he was still working diligently through the sunset. Every shouted word reached his ears.

Franz Edelstein was trying to set Roderich up in an arranged marriage. The Héderváry's were another prominent family in the city, and the eldest daughter, Elizaveta, had just turned 18-right around Roderich's age. The union would provide benefits for both families as well as strengthen the aristocracy. Roderich was expected to gladly accept such a generous offer.

"I refuse," he repeated over and over, enraging his father. "I will not marry a woman I do not love, and I will not accept your place at the head of this family. That is not what will make me happy!"

"If your happiness is not here, then it has no consequence, you ungrateful brat!" Franz roared.

The sound of glass shattering cut through the heavy evening air. Antonio dropped his shovel without a second thought, but then hesitated. If something terrible had happened to Roderich, he needed to save him, but going in at the wrong moment might make it worse still.

Indecision tore at him until Roderich again stumbled out into the garden. This time, he clutched his left hand with his right, and the lights in the mansion went out sooner than before. Instead of going to his usual bench, he just stood there on the grass while drops of blood slowly fell from his fingers.

"I don't believe I'll be able to play the piano very well for a while," he said to Antonio when the gardener hurried near. His voice held no emotion whatsoever, as if he was just stating a fact as simple as 'this plant needs to be watered twice daily'. Keeping his back to Antonio also meant keeping his face from view.

Roderich's words stabbed him directly in the heart. He couldn't control himself then; their social standings and differences no longer mattered. He wrapped his arms around Roderich, embracing him from behind. As he held him close, the warmth of his slight body and his scent of expensive cologne permeated his mind. "I'm sorry," he offered, giving him a gentle squeeze. It was all he could give.

It felt like he held Roderich for an eternity. When at last the aristocrat stirred, he merely turned in Antonio's arms and kissed him.

* * *

Plinking piano keys were still heard in the days after Roderich's hand was cleaned and bandaged. Luckily, the cut hadn't been too deep and hadn't severed anything important. If he let it be, it would heal up nicely, but he would bear the scar for the rest of his life. He reluctantly followed the doctor's orders, yet insisted on still playing with only his right hand. Music was music, even when it couldn't reach its full potential, and even when his father cut his practices short.

Antonio never paid much attention to the guests Franz brought to the house. They didn't acknowledge him, and he went along with his work as usual. A warning from Roderich changed this, keeping him on alert the day the Hédervárys arrived. 'They have been invited over for tea' was Franz's explanation. In reality, the parents were putting their plan to get their children together into action. Mr. Héderváry was handsome and well-spoken; his wife, lovely and poised. Elizaveta herself held a flighty sort of beauty, as if a strong wind could lift her off her feet and she wouldn't care at all. Her hair formed long waves of subdued brown down to her elbows and a pink flower was perched over her left ear. She looked at ease in her expensive dress, having tea with Roderich and their parents.

She continued to appear comfortable when she and Roderich were sent off to walk alone through the garden. Her steps and her laugh were light and airy. Bright, curious words were all that slipped past her lips. He treated her kindly in return. At times, she gently touched his arm, and he didn't pull away. Antonio tried not to pay attention, but failed miserably. They looked like the perfect couple.

That afternoon dragged on and on. When at last the Hédervárys left, Roderich appeared beside him, lips pursed. "I told her I'd prefer not to be wed at this time, not that it likely matters to them at all."

Antonio pulled away from the bush he was tending to and straightened up. With a grin, he replied, "It matters to me," and like many afternoons before and after that, proceeded to pull Roderich under the leafy cover of the bushes and kiss him senseless. When Roderich returned to the house, his jacket was always spotted with dirt. Seeing his clothing marked in the same way as Antonio's was everyday was strangely satisfying. It was then that they didn't seem so far apart.

Just as Roderich predicted, his desires didn't matter to either family. The fact that a wedding date had been set was brought up late one evening in the garden after Franz had gone to bed. Antonio had been absently strumming his guitar until those words were spoken. Then, he accidentally played a mismatched chord and set it on the grass beside the bench. "You're kidding."

"If only it was as simple as that," Roderich sighed.

Antonio shook his head vigorously. "You just won't go to the ceremony. That's simple enough, right?"

Despite Antonio's sudden perking up, Roderich kept his frown. "My father's mind is made up. I've tried to refuse before, as you already know." He lowered his gaze to his hands. The bandage had been changed numerous time since then, but it was still there; still his constant reminder of his father's wrath. "What else can I do?"

The rustling of leaves in the breeze filled the silence that fell between them. Antonio was nowhere near giving up. There had to be a solution-he just hadn't thought of it yet. Somehow, Roderich had to find happiness.

Gently, the wind tousled his hair as he lifted his head to look at the man beside him. "Run away to someplace new," he suggested with complete sincerity.

"…What?"

"Run away," Antonio repeated. "You can start over, and play the piano without worrying about what your family thinks."

Completely taken aback, Roderich gasped, "I… I can't, I…"

"You can do anything if you just take the chance." He set his hand comfortingly over Roderich's, promising, "And I'll go with you."

Past Roderich's knitted eyebrows, past his tense posture and his strained silence, there was a new spark in his violet eyes that had to mean he was considering it. Antonio could only hope and wait.

"So, this is why you've been sneaking off," boomed Franz's voice. Both Antonio and Roderich's heads snapped in the direction of the mansion at once. "You're fooling around with our bumpkin of a gardener, are you?" Antonio pulled back his hand, but the damage was done. When Franz stepped out of the house, it was clear his rage would not be soothed.

Roderich blanched at the sight of his father. He fumbled for words, but if he found the right ones, he failed to say them. "N-No, Father, I-" A hand around his throat cut his explanation short.

"Will you never stop shaming your family with your foolish behavior?" Franz roared, eyes wild. Rather than allow his struggling son to respond, he tightened his grip.

"Let go of him!" Antonio demanded, tearing at Franz's powerful arms, "He's your son!" He couldn't keep his panic in check, even by focusing it on trying to free his choking friend. His words worked, much to his surprise, when Franz abruptly released Roderich. What he also didn't expect was the blow to the face he received next, which made him see an explosion of light equal to the blinding pain that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Franz loomed over him. "You're the one that corrupted my _son_," he accused, treating the title as if it meant nothing. "Pack your bag and get off the property. Now!"

Roderich, although still on the bench, was clinging to the edges like he was ready to follow Antonio's involuntary lead. "S-Stop it!" he managed to beg past his gasps for air.

"Be quiet. I'm not through with you yet." Franz turned on him. The last thing Antonio saw was that thick-fingered hand reaching for Roderich once more; then, he lost consciousness.

* * *

The garden was covered in darkness when Antonio awakened. Disoriented to say the least, he sat up and wiped at his face with his stained sleeve. Dried and nearly dried blood formed a disturbing harmony on the fabric when he pulled it away. Franz's rings had cut him, he realized. With a start he leapt to his feet-not the brightest idea. Several wasted minutes passed before his dizziness did.

Night had also overtaken the mansion. No one was moving around inside, and no sound slipped through the cracks of the doors and windows. Antonio's heart sank until he noticed the weak light in one of the second floor rooms. Even though he had never seen the interior himself, he knew that room belonged to Roderich.

A trellis spread out along the wall under that window. The white latticework was meant for climbing by red roses, not people, but he had tried it before to remove the blooms that faded before their time. Finding handholds and footholds in the moonlight was much tougher than by daylight. He slipped several times, even scratched his arms on rose thorns, but made it to the top eventually.

He tapped gently on Roderich's window. He counted his breaths-fifteen-until it opened. Beside it, illuminated by feeble yellow light, stood the only person he wanted to see. A ring of bruises had already formed around his neck and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was alive. That was all Antonio wanted.

Their eyes met for a long time. Around them the world was still. Antonio held out his tanned, earth-stained hand, palm-up, and gave Roderich a friendly smile. "Let's go."

Roderich tentatively touched the marks on his throat. His defeated expression became one of hope, complete with a smile of his own. He reached out and slipped his white, uncallused hand into Antonio's.

Hours later, they lay side-by-side on an otherwise undisturbed bed. The room they had been given was small, but the aged wooden walls were comforting in the flickering candlelight. Their meager possessions had been cast away in the corner. Only what they needed would join them on this trip.

The inn they were staying at was on the very edge of the city, where hellos and farewells were commonplace. Sometime after morning came, they were going to set off for somewhere new. Ideas were tossed back and forth as they lay there, fingers loosely clasped together, but exhaustion kept them from considering them too deeply. The future would provide endless chances to make those decisions.

Roderich lifted his free hand to brush his fingertips across Antonio's recently bandaged face. He had clumsily applied the bandage himself, with materials graciously supplied by the innkeeper's wife. "Do you truly believe we'll find something better somewhere else?"

"Of course," said Antonio cheerfully. He gave the hand he held a squeeze. "Somewhere, there's a place for us, and our music. Even if this jacket doesn't belong," he added, glancing down at Roderich's royal blue jacket. It was the same one he'd been wearing when Antonio first saw him.

"I hope you're right." The doubt of his words didn't appear on his face. Instead, Roderich just smiled and closed his eyes.

Antonio finally allowed his heavy eyelids to fall shut as well. "You'll see." Their fingers remained twined together long after he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: **While listening to 'Brothers On a Hotel Bed' by Death Cab For Cutie, this began. And Spain/Austria suddenly became my favorite pairing ever. xD Thanks for reading!

...I write too many stories about abuse. I swear I've never been physically abused myself (except by friends).


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